


Interesting Reading

by Lancre_witch



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, M/M, in-universe erotic fiction, once again tumblr is to blame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 12:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lancre_witch/pseuds/Lancre_witch
Summary: Due to the power of random inspiration particles, the art of fanfiction has reached the Discworld. Due to the power of his spy network, Lord Vetinari discovered it quite quickly. Due to the power of narrativium it had some entirely unforeseen consequences.





	Interesting Reading

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my dear friend Rufus, who encouraged me to write this and therefore has to shoulder some of the blame.

_“Is this what you want, Drumknott?” the taller man murmured in his ear._

_The clerk wriggled desperately, his back presses uncomfortably against the desk. Lord Veitnari reached between them and-_

“Drumknott!”

Drumknott turned guiltily and slid the illicit document under a sheaf of papers.

 

He returned from dealing with that dreadful Lipwig man to find Have- Lord Vetinari standing in his office, a much folded piece of paper in his hand. He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “He closed the door and locked it with a click which was like thunder in the blond clerk’s head. Drumknott swallowed, trying to ignore the growing hardness…” Vetinari read on for a moment in silence, then looked up and raised the other eyebrow.

Rufus stammered. “It- it is a popular phenomenon, my lord. I thought it was wise to study…” The Vetinari Stare was seldom employed upon him, but now he withered beneath it.

“Indeed. A very _thorough_ study, I see.” The Stare continued for another five seconds, then Lord Vetinari nodded sharply and turned on his heel, the paper still in his hand.

 

Drumknott sat very still for quite some time, staring at the blank wall. This was it. This was the end. He felt sick. He never should have allowed his feeling to get the better of him, although, in truth, he had been doing so for some time. Allowing their hands to brush together slightly more often than necessary was one thing, easily overlooked. This was not.

He wondered how much his employer knew. Probably not his ‘additional hours’ during the poisoning incident, he decided. In any case, that could be written off as devotion to duty, at least by anyone less perceptive than Lord Vetinari. His words with the Times crossword compiler?* He hoped not, but really that one had been for his own good. Drumknott just couldn’t bear to watch – _yes, say it, at least in your own head_ – the man he loved struggle like that day after day. Did he know about- why was he asking himself these things? His Havelock knew about everyone in his city. Of course he would know about him. There was nothing for it, he was going to lose his job; the only question was whether he would also lose some limbs.

The clock hands chased each other round to close of day and as the shadows lengthened Rufus heard his door open again. A slim file was dropped onto the desk in front of him. He registered the name Rufus Drumknott written in his lordship’s neat handwriting before the man spoke. “I had some of the lesser clerks make this up for me. Most interesting reading, don’t you think?” He leaned forwards, chest pressing against the younger man’s back and opened the file.

It was not what he was expecting. The much folded piece of paper from the morning was at the top – no surprise there, but a good deal of embarrassment – but beneath… “Oh.”

Drumknott spread the papers out on his desk. He recognised maybe half of the fictions before him, all about himself and his employer. The ones which made his breath catch in his throat were those he didn’t. Every one of them, without exception, was written in the unmistakable hand of Lord Vetinari. His eyes skimmed across the pages, picking up chance phrases; _sapphire orbs met his own_ ; _he struggled against his bonds, but with no real wish to break free; tongue tracing patterns across his chest; his breath came faster now as the other man’s hand…_ His cheeks flushed and beneath the table he could feel himself getting hard.

“Fuck,” he said softly.

“I was rather hoping so, yes.”

 

The door to the small room clicked shut behind them. Clothes were shed between lingering kisses, not the one of fiction which lit fireworks behind the eyes, but a little clumsy and enthusiastic and _real_. Havelock was not so well muscled as the romantic novels would have one believe, but lithe and limber despite his age. The slight limp as he walked across the room and guided Rufus onto the bed would not have been found in the print of any illicit work of fiction.

The next trailing touches as Havelock joined him on the bed chased all thoughts of fiction from Rufus’ mind. He had always preferred reality to even the loveliest lies, and never more so than now. Havelock’s eyes had lost their sapphire sharpness, clouded as they were with lust.

Another few open mouthed kisses, deeper and more confident than those before, and Rufus managed to gather his normally well-ordered thoughts enough to ask, “Do you have any, erm, any…” before tailing off, once again embarrassed.

“I do not have any ‘erm’, but you will find in my bedside drawer a bottle procured from a discreet establishment for such activities.”

Still blushing, Rufus stretched out his arm and rummaged in Havelock’s sock drawer**, slightly hampered and greatly distracted by the kisses down his neck and along his collar bone. His hand met cold glass, and he wriggled back into the centre of the bed with the bottle in hand. The movement of his hips caused Havelock to moan, face half buried in the dip of Rufus’ shoulder.

More kisses, faster now, hands fumbling to open the bottle, a portion of the sweet smelling liquid falling onto them. A shaking hand placed the still open bottle on the nightstand. Order and neatness were daytime things, not for now, especially with Havelock’s long slender fingers wrapping round him. This night was for pleasure. Rufus abandoned himself to it, as much as a mind like his ever could. Reality could be picked back up in the morning.

What he grasped instead was, he had to admit, far more enjoyable. There was nothing of the cold Patrician about Havelock now. Kisses could not smother his gasps, nor could pride keep broken pleas of “more, yes… not so tight… ah…” from tumbling from his lips.

Nothing in the world could have kept Rufus from crying out when he came, nor his breath from hitching when Havelock followed soon after.

 

Stories of this nature usually end here, with the new lovers wrapped in one another’s arms, but life carries on. The next morning Rufus woke at the loss of the presence beside him. Confused moments passed before memory returned, bringing the rest of the world with it. He had been given one night and now it was time to leave. If Havelock had taught him anything it was that the working of the city stopped for no one.

Lord Vetinari turned to face him just as the clerk was pulling his boots on. The sapphire gaze was back, but it was tempered with fondness. “Breakfast, Drumknott?”

Sometimes, happy endings aren’t confined to stories.

 

 

 

*Said words were in the form of an anonymous letter to the Times which went down in office history. To this day, the words “What did you just put in that crossword?” can result in hysterics from the right company.

** His literal sock drawer, not a metaphorical one.


End file.
